


The Longest Night

by PeroxidePirate



Series: Ficmas 2010 [2]
Category: Emelan - Tamora Pierce
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:44:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeroxidePirate/pseuds/PeroxidePirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "The Shortest Day." This is the story of a carriage ride unlike any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit/gifts).



> Also for Ficmas 2010.

After dinner, it didn’t take long for Tris to disappear into the library with some of the duke’s more scholarly guests. Sandry and Briar each whirled across the dance floor with a variety of partners. Even Daja danced a little, but mostly she sat with Polyam, watching the dancers and talking with whoever came by. Just after midnight, the duke bid his guests a good night. The older nobles began to leave, and the music in the hall changed in both tempo and volume. Daja’s brother was still dancing; so was her sister, the hostess of the ball. As the music grew louder, it became harder to carry on a conversation.

After a few minutes, Daja stood up and beckoned to a liveried page. She spoke to him briefly, then offered Polyam her hand. “It won’t be more than a minute for the carriage,” she said.

“Carriage?” Polyam got to her feet, shaking the folds from her full velvet skirt, but the expression on her face was halfway between a smirk and a sneer. “It’s not a long walk.”

“Yes, but you’re our guest. The duke would be so disappointed if I refused his hospitality.”

“Ah,” Polyam said, understanding. “You mean your sister would never let you hear the end of it.”

Daja grinned. “Let’s get our cloaks.”

.

Daja climbed into the carriage first, so Polyam wouldn’t have to slide across to the far side. Only belatedly did Polyam realize that put Daja on her left — her ruined side. It didn’t make much difference, she supposed, but she made a habit of turning her right side to people who mattered. And Daja could see her clearly, because the carriage was lit by a spelled lamp: its windows, curtained against the cold, made it into a room — and the tradition was that on Long Night, any occupied room must have light burning from dusk to dawn.

As the driver made ready to leave, Polyam could feel Daja’s gaze on her face. She fought the impulse to bring her hand up and cover her left cheek. She fidgeted, putting her gloves on and then sliding them off again.

“Thank you,” Daja said. “For coming here, as my guest.”

This was so different from what Polyam had been anticipating that she laughed before she could stop herself. _“You’re_ thanking _me?”_

“Yes,” Daja answered gravely. “You didn’t have to accept my invitation.”

There was no good answer for that — not with words, at least. Polyam shifted until she could reach her right hand around to the back of Daja’s neck, then up to the base of her skull. Her fingers stroked over the knobby shapes of Daja’s braids, then settled between them, fingertips on the peach-soft skin of her scalp. She stretched closer, and Daja turned into her; the kiss came equally from them both.

The carriage bench was narrow, not made for sitting sideways. Rather than slide off, Polyam scrambed to get closer, ending up with most of her weight on her knees — flesh and metal — on either side of Daja’s thighs. Daja’s hands gripped her waist, steadying. Polyam held Daja’s head, cradled it between her fingers, and smiled against her mouth, lips parting at the nudge of Daja’s tongue.

The carriage began to move with a suddenness that threw Daja against the back of the bench, and Polyam even tighter against her. Daja exhaled sharply, but rather than stop, she slid her hands down Polyam’s hips. She seemed determined to learn Polyam by touch, right side and left, muscle and bone. But of course Daja couldn’t see her skin, or the mess of scars under her tunic and skirt. She tensed with worry.

Daja leaned her head against the seat back. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, thumbs rubbing circles on the velvet over Polyam’s hipbones.

“Touching me-” Polyam rolled her hips without meaning to, emphasizing every point of contact “-is one thing. But you haven’t seen-”

“Then let’s fix that.” Daja’s voice was low, her eyes wicked. She reached for the buttoned front of Polyam’s tunic.

“Right now?” Polyam leaned back as far as she dared, pushing Daja’s shoulders against the seat. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s still Long Night. There will be lights on at home, too.”

Polyam shivered. “Yes, but it won’t be as cold.”

“Oh,” Daja said, as though it had never occurred to her. “Is that all?” She didn’t even have to concentrate; in the space of a second, her skin temperature rose. She pressed her left hand, palm down, against the flat plane of Polyam’s upper chest.

“Mmm.” The warmth spread into her very bones. It was wonderful.

“Is this all right? The magic?”

Polyam nodded and covered Daja’s hand with her own. Daja still looked troubled, so she tried again. “I trust you. _And_ your magic, every day. All right?”

“Yes.” A smile spread across her face, and her right hand returned to stroking the velvet of Polyam’s skirt. “What else is cold? Your nose?” She tweaked it between her finger and thumb. “Your ears?” She covered one with her palm, and kissed the other, all along the edge. “Tell me,” she whispered between kisses, breath impossibly hot, “where you’re cold.”

“I’m cold all over,” Polyam answered, honestly.

Daja’s hand returned to the row of buttons. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Polyam’s tunic was just unbuttoned when the carriage lurched around a corner, throwing most of her weight onto her false knee. She grunted, clinging to Daja even tighter. Daja caught her. She chuckled, then lifted Polyam — both hot hands at her waist, again — and set her down on the opposite seat. “How’s this?”

There was space between them, now: space for seeing. “All right,” Polyam said, voice creaking. She watched Daja watching her; watched the look of alarm flicker across her face. But it flickered, and was instantly replaced by bald desire. _She knew what she would find,_ Polyam realized.

She swallowed. “When you do that, with the heat... does _all_ your skin get hot?”

Daja grinned. “Every bit.”

They reached for each other at the same moment. They fumbled, briefly awkward with one another. Then Daja’s tunic was unbuttoned, too, their breastbands tugged aside, and Polyam’s skirts pushed up around her thighs. Daja’s hands and mouth trailed along her bare skin, warming her, in contrast to the cool air of the carriage. Her touch eased aches Polyam had forgotten she felt, leaving desire in its wake across her thigh, down her neck, and everywhere in between. It was unnaturally hot, just shy of burning, but she couldn’t get enough.

“Too much?” Daja asked.

Polyam shook her head and held on tighter, fingers pressing into warmer-than-usual skin. “Just right.” And the carriage banged to a halt, pushing her against the seat and Daja further into her at every point of contact. Warmth flooded her. “Just exactly right.”

After a moment, Daja shifted away and began to rebutton her tunic. “There’s another thing about Long Night,” she said, in a conversational tone that belied her flushed cheeks and shaking hands. “It’s a long time until morning.”

Polyam got to her feet, letting the rumpled folds of her skirt drop around her. “Come on, then. Let’s go inside.”


End file.
